The Miranda Rights
by VIVIANVAMPYRIC
Summary: DINO x READER. AU. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in the court of law. Poor Dino and his accidents.
1. Prologue

**"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?"**

- The Miranda Warning

* * *

_A collaboration with omgpink._


	2. The Liabilities Lawyer

_The Liabilities Lawyer

* * *

_"Nice afternoon, isn't it?"

Your briefcase clicked as you placed it on the table.

"I'm from your law firm Alessandro & Associates, a junior associate, to help with the recent car accident in Japan. I have the documents at hand, but you'll have to take the time to fill them out. Do you have any questions?"

"It's fine. Go on," was the response.

"Good. Okay, then..." you snapped open your briefcase. A twenty-four year old man with blonde hair sat across from you, a coffee table separating your conservative, black stilettos from his casual, white sneakers. He slouched with his elbows on his knees and his hands interlaced in front of him. His office's fancy Italian hardwood furniture didn't suit his scruffy parka, nor his casual jeans. Behind him, several men stood in suits. One watched the door, one watched the window, one watched their escort, and one watched you. You yearned for them to sit down, their standing aloofness feeling awkward when the sofas were so inviting.

"Huh?"

You stopped glancing at the paperwork and quirked your eyebrow.

"...Well, I don't know how you could," you pulled out a piece of paper from your briefcase, a court transcript, "drive through an underground mall and cause 200,000 Euros worth of damage! What happened?" You immediately regretted your curiosity. It was wholly unprofessional.

The young man smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and shrugged his shoulders.

"I was running a little late." He started, and at your skeptical look, he continued. "I had a meeting with the family. I thought I hit the brake pedal at the intersection, but I accidentally hit the gas..." He looked like he would fall apart.

"For what my boss is worth, this accident is nothing to judge him on," one of the suited men said strongly. Then, the mustached suit looked up at you. "Mistakes happen like that all the time."

"Yeah, just have to laugh about it," Dino replied, now grinning. "We're only human." His smile asked you to give in to him. To relax. To feel a sort of connection that lowered your lawyer-ly rigidity like a hard seashell. This reckless man smiled like an innocent child. For some reason, you thought it admirable that he could be so carefree when confronted about his mistake. And so, you couldn't help but let a small smile cross your lips. His attitude was rather infectious.

But the smile disappeared as fast as it came into sight.

"Why didn't you get car rental insurance?" you asked, withdrawing a stack of photos from your no-nonsense briefcase and thrusting them in his direction. The first picture was of a silver convertible smashed into a pyramid of tennis ball cylinders, the second, a picture of civilians fleeing the scene, and the third, a trail all the way to the escalator of burnt rubber, feathers, and smashed gourds. A fallen banner, declaring the Namimori underground shopping center's grand opening clothed the totaled vehicle like a Roman toga.

"Are you alright? Were you really in that car?" You had only seen simple cases since you joined the law firm six months ago. A telephone pole toppled over by an SUV. A few medical malpractice suits involving embedded surgical utensils. But still, mostly incidents involving cars and the common mistake of speeding, with just the car manufacturer and car owner parties involved. Never to an accident this… horrific. You had imagined, perhaps, a domino effect, not a car turned wrecking ball.

"Oh, I'm fine. It wasn't as bad as it looks."

It was hard for you not to question him further. Gourds? Feathers? How had he gotten his driver's license in the first place?

But… he did look okay.

You scanned him over for a few extra seconds and you willed yourself out of inspecting his legs underneath the coffee table. It would be rude and you were here on business. Only business. Besides, he might take it as something sexual, and an inner blush crept up inside you.

"I'm tougher than I look. But, truth be told, I should have been more careful." He sounded like an earnest, old man, embarrassed he'd forgotten his house keys. One of the suited men put a hand on your Signore Cavallone's shoulder.

You, with only the slightest hesitation, slid the paperwork across the table.

Simple enough. He perked back up quickly. You were used to it though. Lawyers dwelled in mankind's weaknesses since the dawn of civilization.

Soon, your borrowed fountain pen was put to the dreadful mound of paperwork. You offered to stay, but he said he would much prefer if you left him alone to work and if you grabbed lunch. It _was_ already noon, but you were reluctant on leaving him.

"But there are so many details to fill out! You might have a question." Who was injured? What was damaged? Who was at fault? What _exactly _happened?

"Don't worry about me. I can take care of this easily." Two of his body guards had already left to go to lunch.

"Sure you're sure?"

"Ha! It won't kill me."

True. And he did seem confident.

"Go eat. You look hungry."

"Okay," you gave in. "I'll come by to pick it up in a couple hours," you said, wondering why this new client was the first not to ask who he or she could sue.


	3. Exploration

_Exploration

* * *

_

After showing your I.D. to the suited guard at the gate, you made your way back to the mansion, choosing to linger outside before meeting up with Signore Cavallone again. It was a sunny day and you were always stuck inside the office or the car at this hour. And that paperwork always took more than an hour and a half to chew on. A couple of extra minutes wouldn't kill him.

The day paperwork killed anyone would be an ironic one indeed.

So you began your tour of the vast, green grounds, patches of farmland and fallowing meadows visible on the neighboring hillside. The nearby town, with terracotta rooftops and a bustling farmer's market, welcomed you with farmers boasting about their heirloom, farming techniques. The land had that sort of traditional feel, an old Italian feel.

You spotted a huge pond as you walked further into the grounds around the house. There was a large rock with three turtles sitting on it, soaking in the summer sun. Their dark green shells reminded you of the bottom of a well, and their scent, you always found, held something of a primal integrity.

Suddenly, you heard your name shouted and turned around. A suited man was waving to you near your car parked in the drive-way. He was polite and friendly as he ushered you back inside. You sighed in relief. Everyone seemed so stiff here. Like their spines were of steel.

So many men too. How odd. Maybe the house was really a sort of business office?

You were escorted through the creamy atrium, with its high ceiling and skylights, and up the carpeted staircase. At the top, the man, nodding, pointed to the office you'd recently left.

"You have an excellent record, Ma'am. We were very impressed with your references. Will you be practicing in Italy for long?" Well, you had gotten your degree in England, but Italy had always been your home.

"I will practice wherever I'm needed." You said it simply, a casual shrug accompanying your words. Best to stay professional.

He smiled gently and pointed to the office door like a tour guide in the Tower of London motioning towards the crown jewels in their glass case. A case surrounded with invisible infrared sensors.

Glossy lips curved upward politely. Then, you entered the office with a wary strut.

In front of him was a fat stack of multicolored papers, pastel yellow, pink, and green, marked up with Times New Roman text and crows-feet signatures. You picked up the first few in the stack and examined them, making sure that his name was in all in the necessary places. Perfect. You slipped them back into your briefcase and looked back at your client.

He seemed... out of it. His brown eyes gazed outside, his expression yearning and deep in thought. A fountain gurgled outside the French doors on the clay-red veranda, and the sound of the moving water resonated through his spacious office. He leaned back in his chair, balancing on the two rear legs - a position of imminent disaster. His thin fingers thoughtfully spun _your_ fountain pen. The room was now empty, void of the bodyguards.

"Signore Cavallone?"

His response to your quiet voice was astounding. He jumped up, but forgot that he was leaning precariously back in his seat. He toppled over, his head crashing against the floor, which was thankfully, _thankfully_ covered by a shaggy rug.

"Are you alright?" You asked, hurrying over to his side and extending a hand out to him. He took a hold your palm tightly as you helped pull him up with a tug. You realized – you had never shaken his hand. This entire time. His hand was warm and much larger than your own.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little clumsy without Romario." He checked the crown of his head, wincing slightly as his hand rested on a bump.

"Your bodyguard?" You asked, as he nodded.

"Right. They went out for lunch. They should be back in a few minutes."

"Oh, okay. All the paper work seems ready and good to go, Signore Cavallone."

"Yeah, I made sure that it would be," he said, his casual words holding an air of confidence. A genuine smile touched your lips as you picked up the handle of your briefcase.

"You sound as if you do this often, Signore Cavallone."

He chuckled as he ran his fingers through his bushy hair.

"Call me Dino."


	4. Missing

_Missing_

* * *

You balanced the coffee-holding egg crate on top of a stack of paperwork, waiting for the elevator, hoping the drinks would not carelessly spill.

"Here's another one to look over," Signora Moretti, a secretary, said, slipping yet another legal briefing packet under your armpit. A senior lawyer had recently retired and you had to take on many cases. They weren't exactly his clients, but clients that had been passed down from one of the intermediate staff to you, a junior, as the work load caused a ripple effect down the hierarchy. Six months ago, you were fresh out of law school and away from those awful exams, relieved to finally take your place in the real world.

But now, your life was falling back into a dull routine. Pick up coffee for the seniors. Read over the dry legal documents. Type summaries. CHECK, CHECK, CHECK for mistakes. At least a pay check was finally coming in.

You had felt so noble in law school, dabbling in corporate and trade law, but had finally settled in liability as a specialty. Why? The cases were better than gossip magazines - real stories about real people making mistakes. Stupid mistakes. Funny mistakes. Regrettable mistakes.

The world was filled with people making mistakes. What were they worth? Every client wanted someone to be punished for their mistakes. Every client wanted to run away from their mistakes. Whatever the excuse, the lawyer's job was to write some reason, any reason, in fancy letters, that their client was perfect and graceful and made no mistakes.

Without saying they were a deity, of course.

The large stack wobbled as you stepped into the elevator, framed ornately with gold foiled Rococo seashells, and touched the button for the top floor. You would drop the coffee off first for the senior associates before heading to your desk.

At fifteen past, you spread out the briefings on your workspace and, for a moment, you gazed at those manila folders. Decisions, decisions. You chose to finish the Cavallone case first. The portfolio was nearly complete and only needed a few short hand notes tacked on before being filed away. Clicking your pen, you set to work.

"Knock, knock!" A voice said in the doorway of your cubicle, just as you finished your scribbles. Your eyes flicked upwards to the opening in your fuzzy, gray walls, lined with calendars and rainbowed with post-its. You weren't experienced enough for your own office yet. Too young. A junior. Immature in lawyer years. You shared this space with two other young associates, but they were out with clients today.

"Oh, Signore Volpe! Come in, come in!" You greeted him with a grin on your face.

A thin, old man with a soft expression looked over at you, a smile forming on his wrinkled brow. Gray hair peeked out from the sides of his bowler hat, which he tipped heartily to you. A senior member, Malvagita Volpe was an associate whom you talked with frequently. When you had just entered the law firm, he had taken you under his wing, teaching you how to deal with insecure clients with sweaty palms and wavering voices. Once, when you suddenly were presented with a massive load of paperwork, he'd shown you how to work in a more efficient and organized manner. He reminded you of a patient elephant with his long nose and small eyes - someone who would always be there for you to lean on when times got rough.

"Ah, yes! Thank you for the coffee," he said in appreciation as he took a seat behind the desk next to yours. You turned your swivel chair to him and crossed your skirted legs, one over the other.

"Oh, not a problem." You dismissed the topic with a flick of your wrist. "Have you been busy?"

He bobbed his head up and down as his smile disappeared. "Yes, I have been. Ever since Signore Rossi retired, I think that everyone's lives have been quite hectic. He had so many clients at the time of his departure and he left without any notice. It's a shame!" He shook his head. "The other senior lawyers and I, in the meanwhile, have had to pick up two or three cases of his." He took a delicate sip of his coffee before adding, "Although, I feel even worse for the junior members. How have you and your co-workers been holding up?"

"Signora Greco and Signore Lombardi seem... I don't know. They seem to be busy, but it feels like I've been busier. I've been swamped with loads of paperwork and my client yesterday was..." You trailed off for a moment to think about Dino. You weren't too sure how to describe him, so you just finished off your sentence with, "different." Different was, oh, how to put it... different... a broken pencil, a cracked shoe heel. You just had to reorientate yourself. Like those high school years? Yes. Self-conscious. Uncertain. Swept back into something unknown.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for starters," you took on scholastic tone of a huffy professor, "he didn't wave his arms around demanding to sue every Sakura or Takeshi that was at the scene of the accident." Signore Volpe laughed heartily at your words. 'But then again,' you thought 'you had never seen such an accident.'

You and Signore Volpe were experienced waiting vultures when it came to the greed of clientele, him, of course, much more than you.

"Signore Cavallone didn't deny what he did. He took and signed the papers, perfectly, might I add, and explained what happened all with very little distractions." Despite it all, this Dino Cavallone had been very professional, and the memory put you in a good mood.

"You're right. You've just described the perfect client. Color me jealous! Anyways, I should get on my way, my dear. You seem incredibly busy this morning, so if there's anything I can do for you, feel free. Can I get you a coffee refill on my way out?" he offered as a smile lit up your features.

"Oh, I think I'll pass on the coffee," you said, because the coffee available in the break room was of the quality of soapy dish water, "but Signore Volpe?"

"Mmm?"

"If you wouldn't mind, can you take these papers to the filing cabinet and throw them into the Cavallone portfolio? It'll be really quick since I'm done with all the note-taking and organizing. I really need to work on the Romano case, so if you could...?"

"But of course," he answered simply, getting up from the chair and taking the stack of papers off your hands. You felt one more worry slip from your mind.

"I don't know how to thank you, Signore Volpe. It's just that you've helped me so much during my time here. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

He laughed and waved it off. "Oh, it's not a big deal. Your younger generation is what's keeping me alive! But I'm off. I know how busy you are, so I'll see you later." He tipped his hat to you once more, and then stepped out of the room.

"Bye-bye!" You chirped after him.

Turning back to the Romano case, you readied yourself for yet another dry briefing. A hand-me-down file. You brushed your hair out of your eyes and tied it in a low, neat pony-tail. Then, you picked up your pen and began to take notes, returning to the Alps of paperwork.

But at three-quarters past, a knock on the "wall" of your cubicle woke you from your robotic trance, your pace completely interrupted.

"Yes?" You asked, irritated.

"It's just me," Signora Moretti said, peeking over your cubicle wall as if she were peeking into a bathroom stall. Her bangs fell over her eyes before she brushed them away. But they fell back again shortly afterward. "Where are the Cavallone papers? The deadline for them is, well, in a couple of minutes."

"They're in the filing cabinet...?" Maybe she was just having one of _those_ moments.

"I checked the filing cabinet. I also checked the judicial stacks and the mailboxes. Are you sure you put them in the filing cabinet?" she asked.

"Are you sure they're _not_ in the filing cabinet?" You clenched the pen in your hand as you stared at the punctual woman.

"No, they're definitely not. I've checked three times for them in the whole filing cabinet. They're not in there." She was still rambling when you jumped up from your seat and walked swiftly to the black-painted metal storage drawers, which had their own room. You didn't even have your own room!- That's how important those documents were. You thumbed through the tabulated folders, looking for the sheets decorated with Dino's quick signatures.

Where were they? The Esposito files were perfect, the De Luca papers were neatly organized, and there wasn't a single page of the Mancini case missing, but the Cavallone papers... The Cavallone files… they were gone! You thumbed through the papers again, but, still, your first BIG case... Your work wasn't there.

"See?" Signora Moretti butted in, appearing behind you with her arms crossed. She adjusted her neon blue reading glasses on the bridge of her nose as you brought your fingers to your temples. Massaging your forehead and consciously breathing in was a habit you had taken up in law school. It beat alcoholism, rather common on campus, but a drink did sound rather nice right about now.

That file was a lot of work for your client.

"Well, I asked Signore Volpe to file them away for me. Maybe he made a mistake?" You didn't like the idea you were sitting on. It felt wrong in your gut, like a turtle lying on a bird's egg. "No, he couldn't have. Signora Moretti, are you sure you haven't taken them? Or... put them somewhere? Those were done. Those were all finished!"

The huffy secretary stood akimbo in front of you, a pen hanging from her lips.

"Signora, I understand if you haven't finished them. For a junior associate such as yourself, it makes sense that you wouldn't be able to handle it," she sniffed as you bit your tongue, willing yourself not to speak out. "I'll have to notify Signore Alessandro's secretary." She then spun around and went off to diligently dial a telephone number.

Of course, you followed. Dozens of curious eyes landed on you and the other woman. Ears pricked up as she continued to reprimand you while waiting for her call's recipient to answer.

"I must say, bringing up Signora Volpe when you couldn't handle your own responsibility, don't you think that's a little low?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but she interrupted. Although she was only a secretary, Signora Moretti had worked at Alessandro & Associates for years.

"Signora, I -"

"It would also be much appreciated if you stopped questioning me about the status of your obviously incomplete paper work. Thank you." Her tone was clipped like she was scolding a child as she turned her back. "Now out! Out! I have work to do too, you know."

"_Why would Signore Volpe file her things? He's got so many better things to do. His Rizzo case is a trophy."_

_"The man is on death row and she thinks he would still be filing papers?"_

_"Yeah, come on now. She's only a pretty face. I heard she was hired just to make the firm look good."_

_"Honey for the new clients? I get you."_

_"Who would trust her with an important client like Cavallone?"_

_"Signore Volpe was going to take over that case, anyways. Did she not know that by now?"_

Whispering filled the office, and the air was tainted with your name. You quickly escaped to your desk again, wishing that those spiteful voices would disappear.

_"I don't think that she did. Otherwise, why would she have worked so hard on those papers?"_

_"...You actually think she did them? Ha!"_


	5. Tact

_Tact_

**_

* * *

_**

The door to Signore Volpe's office was made of a strong oak. So why did it sound like metal when you rapped on it? As you knocked, a familiar voice told you to come in. The six cups of coffee in the cafe's to-go holders gave off a comforting aroma, but today, the beverages only made you feel like you were walking on the edge of a razor.

The elderly lawyer sat at his desk and late morning sunlight bathed the his office. Two other senior members were discussing the Rizzo case with him, laughing like titans.

"Signore Volpe... Signore Avvoltoio, Signore Iena... hello." You nodded your head to the three men sitting in front of you - a sign of respect, but _really_ something to distract you from their sharp eyes.

"Why, hello dear. What are you up to today?" said Signore Volpe as the other two men watched you make your way across the room.

"Just dropping off the coffee." Your eyes shifted from the bowler on the hat stand to his hands folded attentively on his desk. His face was kind as ever, radiating that majesty that came with age.

"My my, Avvoltoio. I'm getting forgetful, aren't I?" You looked at Signore Volpe, eyebrows knit. He had the same jocular, sporting, expression that you had come to adore. "I don't know what I would do without my caffeine regimen, right fellas?" he exclaimed, making a toast with his coffee.

Did he know what happened to the Cavallone case? The other senior associates followed his lead, happiness crinkling their faces. Signore Iena rummaged through his wallet and Signore Avvoltoio patted your mentor on the back.

"Wonderful job, old man. I can't believe you handled it so easily," the latter said.

"I'm still pleased, even though I lost the bet," Signore Iena added.

You choked down your question. You would only come across as insulting and accusing. If law school taught you anything, it was tact. Now wasn't the time. _"Where did you put the Cavallone files? You lost the Dino portfolio!"_ No, it wouldn't work. You couldn't even trust yourself to stay civil, so you bit the inside of your cheek and forced yourself to melt into the cheerful atmosphere.

"I'd like to hear the story," you said, all congeniality.

"Ahah! It's too long. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll catch snippets of it around the office," Signore Iena replied.

"I'll tell it to you myself," Signore Volpe announce, "if I can find the time. Damn Rossi had to go off and retire."

Maybe it was all just one big misunderstanding. You laughed along, but it sounded like a judge adjusting his white wig, all acrylic smoothness. You slipped away from the room and returned to your desk where a mound of droll paperwork awaited.

"Hey, you!" a woman greeted, giving you a tiny secretive wave. A smile floated on her moon-like face. Signora Greco sat at the desk next to yours. She was a woman in her early twenties, a junior—just like you. "I heard about all the drama yesterday. I can't believe I missed it!" And you couldn't believe that this lighthearted woman was a lawyer, a monster in the courtroom.

"Yeah, it was fantastic, Claudia," you replied. She didn't seem to notice your playful sarcasm, with her eyes focused downwards at her case study.

"Will you take lunch with me today? I'll pay, of course." She wasn't the kind of woman to eat alone. You checked the mounds on your desk while running your fingers through your hair—Only to shudder, realizing you were messing up your pristine and tidy style.

"That would be nice."

"You know, one of the clients is coming in today. It's so rare! I wonder what it's about." Her highlighter screeched painfully as she ran it along a line of text. Then she looked up at you and grinned. "We usually have to truck our asses out to them!"


	6. Lunch With Company

_Lunch With Company

* * *

_You could take your chances. The candy bar sitting in that plexiglass prison was rather luscious. But the last time you fed the machine a couple of Euros... well, it had eaten them up, satisfying its own hunger and leaving you high and dry. Plans never kept themselves, always leaking through your fingers like water. Claudia Greco had to forgo your lunch date, getting called away at the last minute to accompany Signore Iena on a meeting.

But when hunger swept over you in waves of fatigue, it was hard to resist the siren call of those chocolates. You rested your forehead against the clear glass, staring at the caramel candies enveloped in dark chocolate. Goddamnit. This never would've happened, had you not spent half of your lunch break working.

That paperwork.

It never ended.

But Alessandro & Associates paid well. You were saving up to buy your condominium from your landlord. Sooner or later, a promotion would come your way, and the monotony would flush itself down the drain. That's what you told yourself, anyways. And it wasn't like you detested being a lawyer. On the contrary, you prided yourself on graduating law school. But after looking over the same forms, the same styles of cases, over and over and over like a dull hammer tinking on rock, that light in your eyes faded.

A promotion would easily fix that. A sort of get out of jail free card.

"Yo. How's it going?"

Your head turned sideways, too lazy, too tired, too famished to detach your forehead from the glass. Dino grinned, raising his hand to get your attention. Not that he needed to. A sweatshirt and jeans always stood out at Alessandro & Associates. Next to him stood a man in a suit, eyes shaded by a pair of sunglasses.

"Dino? Hi! Uh?" Your cheeks almost pooled with heat as you turned to him.

"I was wondering what happened to you." In your moment of dire hunger, he wasn't questioning your sanity, your unprofessionally smushed cheek...

"You were?"

"Mn. Yeah." He smiled contemplatively, the ghost of serious law-firm related matters evidently haunting in his mind. Did he want to talk business? With you? A junior associate? "By the way, this is Romario. You remember him, don't you?"

"Right, right. At the office. It's a pleasure to meet you," you straightened, "but... what are you two doing here?"

"More paperwork, of course. Hey, have you eaten yet?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest, peering into the vending machine, his smile growing. Your entire body froze like you were caught stealing the cookies from the cookie jar.

"...Not exactly."

"You must be starved. It's one already!"

"Well," you cleared your throat, "I was just deciding on what to eat today. Fruits or proteins." Your index and middle finger pointed at two selections behind the glass. Chocolate covered strawberries and gourmet hazelnut chocolates. His laughter chased the ghost of tedium away.

"Every time I see you, you're hungry. C'mon, let's go get some food." He was already walking out, expecting you to follow with a motion from his hand. "I haven't eaten yet, either."

You looked back towards your desk, down the hallway, thinking of _all that paperwork_.

"Oh, but I only have half an hour."

"Well then," he turned around at the doorway, "what are we waiting for?"

You sighed. Just the look of him, so inviting, waiting. Entirely a gentleman. _Persuasive_. Your stomach gurgled at his promise of the treat Claudia had raised your hopes for: A lunch with company. You were ahead, so for once, screw the inbox. Heck, toss it in the air like confetti... you cringed. Maybe you weren't that much of a rebel. You followed him and Romario, pulling yourself together. It took some concentration as you headed out, grabbing your purse more like it was a book bag after the school bell had rung.

Outside, in the parking garage, he opened the door to a red convertible, blazing in a sea of blue and black sedans.

"...Will you be driving?"

He chuckled. "Who else would be driving?"


	7. Driving

_Driving

* * *

_

Dino went around the car and hopped into the driver's seat. Romario opened the door beside Dino, however, you pulled open the door to the backseat. Experts say the back seat is always safer. There are two airbags instead of one, but as your fingers lifted the door handle, Romario cleared his throat with his stony, sandpaper voice. You looked up at him. He motioned for you to get in. He was holding the door open for you!

Oh, he wanted the backseat for himself?

"I would prefer to take the back seat, Ma'am" he clarified, a line he repeated on numerous occasions.

You placed your hands on your hips, hands hesitant and floating on the slipstream side of the Ferrari. After seeing all the damage to that other car, this was a fight you were not going to lose.

"Well, so do I," you said curtly, before softening up a bit. "I really don't mind if you sit in the front." Eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses fell upon yours as you awkwardly shifted your weight from one leg to the other.

"Come on, get in the car!" Dino said and Romario's hand remained on the cool metal car door, keeping it open for you. He was leaning across the manual shift, a charming smile lifting his lips, and you sensed he was the kind of guy who loved speeding and sharp turns. Why else would he have a Ferrari? Furthermore, it smelled new. Silence filled the air between you two before you grunted and climbed into the front seat. Fine. Fine. Romario could sit in the back. Fine.

The suede seats felt buttery under your legs, your skirt ending at your upper knees. Romario, who got in the back seat, was already taking notes on a legal pad from his briefcase. Dino had his keys in the car and effortlessly turned the ignition, the engine starting up with a purr.

"Do you have any particular place in mind?" You pulled your seat belt down. "..No... no, it's fine. You pick." It was on him, right? You didn't want to pick something too expensive, but you didn't want to pick anything that wasn't _good enough_.

He gave you a little smile, a little upturn at the corner of his lips. "So you trust my taste? All right. I know a good place." He shifted the stick to reverse, twisted his body to look out of the rear window and wound the steering wheel smoothly with one hand. He swept out of the parking space, the car like an extension of his body. Did he get into that accident because he wasn't used to the vehicle? You felt safe as he came to a halt at the parking lot's exit.

"So how do you like the firm so far? I haven't seen you around there too long."

"Oh, it's a lot of work," you laughed. "Nothing I can't handle, though."

"Ah. That's good. So you're smart then?"

"I work hard. It doesn't feel like it comes down to brains these days," you admit, "as much as how fast you can summarize the legal documents, take notes, you know."

"I can imagine. Its good you got out then. Lunch will be nice." He shot you a smile and you cracked a grin back with ease. "I like that about you. You're nicer to talk to than other people who work there." You thought of Dino smiling at one of the older lawyers. Wow, he stuck out. "I thought working for Alessandro's would be more interesting, though."

"Haha, it's only a law firm. Most cases aren't very extreme." He smirked at you under that wavy, blonde hair, enjoying the chat and you added, "But I remember when I was in school, a professor of mine went over a trial related to the mafia. That one had the entire class at the edge of its seat."

He was silent and you continued. "The mafia hitman was caught sneaking into a politician's house with the intent to murder him. There was a huge controversy over how the punishment ought to have been dealt because the politician had some shady connections. Evidence was produced that he once assisted a mafia organization smuggle drugs."

"Yeah, I heard of this case."

"I'm sure you have. It was in a lot of newspapers."

"The politician slept with a knife under his pillow, I read, and had somehow managed to kill the intruder." His eyes were fixed on the road.

"That's right. Honestly, though," you glanced over at him to gauge his reaction. "I think that criminal's death was poetic justice. The mafia are an endless cycle of violence and corruption." You quoted your old law professor, then added your own conclusion. "They have no value for life. Their world revolves around money and pride. It's disgusting." In the backseat, the scratching of the pen against paper stopped. All that could be heard was the cheesy background music for an equally cheesy seafood restaurant on the HD radio. _It's lobsterific!_ You laughed, not thinking much of the conversation.

"I don't know. From what I've heard, living in the mafia can be pretty rough."

"Mmm," you agree, "a rough life sure makes some scary people."

Your eyes shifted to Dino when he turned off the radio, letting the engine's quiet hum take over the background.


End file.
